Unconditional
by Jade Nolan
Summary: Mac is injured on the job and ends up having to let himself be taken care of.


**A/N: **_Disclaimer - I own none of the characters._

_Just a little one shot that popped into my head. Well, to be honest, the picture of finding Mac standing half-naked and injured_ _at the bathroom sink was what popped into my head, and I *cough*HAD*cough* to write a scenario around it ;)_

_Thanks for reading! Please review! :)_

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Claire rolled over and stretched one arm out. The sheet was cold, and the bed very broad next to her. She opened her eyes and saw that it was empty, Mac's pillow completely undisturbed. She sighed and felt a flash of annoyance and almost anger. Again? Really? She understood how he didn't always get the luxury of coming home at a decent hour once he was fully involved in an investigation, but there were times when it seemed as if he forgot to make the time to come home for even a few hours. His tenacious personality made her both love him to pieces, and sometimes just want to shake him. A hint of daylight made its way around the shades that were over the window, and she glanced at her watch. 7am.

Sighing, she folded back the covers and swung out of bed. Now that she was somewhat awake, she had to go pee. She contemplated calling Mac to see when he'd be home, but decided against it. She had the day off, and she was going to sleep in. Even with Mac clearly having pulled one of his marathon shifts, he had never pushed it past nine or ten in the morning without calling her. As much as she would have loved to have him in bed with her, he should at least be getting home in time to re-wake her. Sighing again, she headed down the hallway and stopped in puzzlement as she noticed light coming from underneath the bathroom door. She could have sworn she'd turned it off before going to bed. Maybe Mac _was_ home. If so, he was in what Claire had dubbed his 'sneaky' mode, since she had had half an ear out for him all night. She pushed the bathroom door open.

Mac was standing at the sink, and Claire caught him just in time to see him pull his undershirt off over his head, grimacing as he did so. If it wasn't for the look of pain on his face and the blood on his t-shirt, seeing him stand there with no shirt, mussy hair, pants slouching on his hips, his badge still on his belt, would have about the sexiest thing Claire could imagine. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard her open the door and instantly turned guiltily away.

"Mac?" Claire asked, raising her eyes from his shirt. He looked absolutely wiped out. He leaned his hands on the sink briefly before trying to straighten up. But Claire reached him before he could. She lay a hand on his strong back, any angry annoyance about him staying overnight at work vanishing with a stomach-dropping jolt of concern. Mac closed his eyes at her touch and dropped his head back down, as if he decided was just too much effort to put up a front. It would have been pointless anyway.

"Mac, are you hurt?" Claire asked, trying to peer into his face.

"It's just a couple stitches," Mac said as he stood up.

"Let me see," Claire said, placing her hands on his hips and turning him towards her. He reluctantly followed her firm but gentle direction.

Claire looked between the bandage that was half-way up his right side and his weary eyes with some horror. "Mac, you're already bleeding through it."

He didn't say anything.

Claire closed the lid to the toilet and motioned to it. "Sit down," she ordered him firmly.

Mac meekly obeyed. He was too tired to protest, and besides, right now, he actually couldn't think of anything he wanted more than letting Claire take care of him.

"If this is just a 'couple stitches', I'm from freakin' Siberia," Claire observed scathingly as she knelt beside him to take a closer look at his injury.

"Are you?" Mac inquired, deadpan.

Claire shot him a withering look, and Mac bit back a grin.

"You know, you're lucky that for now I'm not grilling you about all those little cuts and scrapes on the side of your face as well." Claire paused before continuing quietly, "Or why you never called me when this happened."

Mac felt a stab of guilt at the look of concerned pain in Claire's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said as equally quietly. "It was one in the morning when I got out of the ER, and I didn't want to disturb you."

"Disturb me?" Claire looked up from where she was removing the tape from the edges of his blood soaked gauze bandage. "Jesus, Mac, this isn't exactly as if you were calling to see if we need milk!"

"I know," Mac said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Claire returned to easing off the bandage which had started to stick as the blood dried. Mac flinched as it pulled on the edges of his wound.

"I know," Claire said, her tone softening. "But you can't…" her voice trailed off, unsteady, as she collected herself. "Do you know what it was like to first think you weren't home yet, and then find you pulling your bloody shirt over your head, your face scraped up, and looking like you were going to collapse any second?" Her throat caught as perpetual, old fears resurfaced. "It's not like you're going out on missions or training exercises anymore where there's no communication possible," she added in a quiet voice.

Guilt and remorse shot through Mac. Claire had never complained about how much he'd been gone while he was in the Marines, nor the high risks that she knew him being in Recon involved, not even when he'd come back rather the worse for wear or actually injured. And she had never once asked him to do anything else. Even now, she rarely complained about the long hours he kept at work. And he knew she had to worry about him even though she had never burdened him with those fears.

He heard a small sniff and looked down in time to see Claire try to surreptitiously brush her face. A flood of emotions rushed through him. Seeing Claire cry was one of the worst things, and knowing that he was the cause of her tears and pain tore him to pieces.

"Hey," he said, his own voice threatening to be unsteady, "Come here." He pulled Claire to him, one arm around her shoulders and the other hand holding her head close to his chest. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Claire. I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Claire nodded and sniffed again, closing her eyes and sinking into Mac's embrace, enjoying the simplicity and safety of his arms and understanding, and the sound of his heartbeat.

The two of them held each other in the soft silence of the early morning for several long moments.

Eventually Claire pressed into Mac before pushing herself back and gazing into his eyes. She smiled and ran her hand along his cheek. "Come on," she said, "Let's finish getting you patched up."

Mac looked back down at the long cut that ran horizontally along one of his ribs. "Yeah, I guess that's more than a 'couple'," he said, chagrined.

"Ya think?" Claire asked sarcastically. With the bandage now off, she inspected his injury more closely. "Mac! No wonder you bled through that bandage. You burst three of your stitches…! What happened?" She looked up at him with a level of hopeless despair. "You were out running around being all super cop after getting out of the ER, weren't you."

"Not exactly," Mac replied.

"Go on," Claire prompted.

"At first we just went to question this guy just to see if he had any information," Mac continued

He and Quinn had been investigating a hit and run of a 28 year old female, and had gone to her brother's apartment simply to find out some background. They didn't know it at the time, but he, ridiculously high, had been the one who had accidently run her over after the two got into a vicious argument and Lara, the victim, had stormed out of the car. When the brother's roommate had let them into his apartment, he had lunged out of the side hallway at them, brandishing a long knife.

"I'm listening," Claire said from where she was getting cotton balls, saline solution, antibiotic ointment and new gauze from the cabinet.

Mac cleared his throat slightly before continuing, "Well, he was both high and, as it turned out, guilty. So he panicked and rushed us with a knife as we went into his apartment."

He had had enough reaction time to partially twist out of the way before he was slammed into the wall, breaking out the glass of a picture frame with the side of his face, and the knife sliding along his ribs instead of being buried in his gut. Instinct and fury had instantly filled him, and despite having been taken completely by surprise, he had had their assailant disarmed, on the ground, and in handcuffs with vicious swiftness.

"And the cuts on your face?" Claire asked as she dampened the cotton balls with the saline and gently dabbed around Mac's wound to clean it, wiping the half-dried blood that had trickled down his side off as well.

"Picture frame on the wall," Mac said.

He had tried to brush off the knife injury to Quinn, but when he had brought his hand, covered in blood, from his side, he couldn't protest any longer. It had taken twelve stitches to close the gash.

"Ah," said Claire as she set the cotton balls and saline to the side and pulled out a pair of tweezers. "I'm assuming there's no way I'm getting you in to the doctor to get these replaced?" she continued with a sigh, indicating the last three stitches which had given way.

"I'll be fine," Mac said.

"Why did I get the feeling that's what you were going to say…?" Claire asked dryly. "Alright, hold still."

Mac flinched slightly as Claire carefully grabbed the ends of the broken stitches with the tweezers and pulled them out.

"Since when did you become so good at this stuff?" Mac asked, looking down at what she was doing.

Claire shot him a withering look. "I've had a bit of practice by this time," she said even dryer than before.

Mac wordlessly acknowledged her point with chagrin.

"And by the way," Claire continued with emphasis, "You still didn't tell me what you were doing to reinjure yourself, considering you got out of the ER at 1am and the altercation you just told me about was the original cause."

"You ought to be the detective," Mac muttered.

"What was that?" Claire asked.

"Oh nothing," Mac said hurriedly.

"Well? What happened?" Claire pressed when Mac didn't continue. She looked up at her husband as she unscrewed the cap of the antibiotic ointment and he continued his silence. His lips were pressed tight together and his eyes both flashed and were filled with a level of painful torment.

"He said something in interrogation he really shouldn't have," Mac finally said, his voice tight.

"Who? The same guy who rushed you?" Claire asked.

"Yes," Mac said briefly.

There were very few things which broke Mac's professionalism and control. Threats and insults against Claire topped that short list. And his and Quinn's suspect had managed to do both in a couple short sentences. Mac had all but launched himself across the interrogation table, and had had the guy pinned against the wall, arm across his throat before he could even blink. Quinn had had to pull him off and push him against the opposite wall while rational thought slowly replaced the adrenaline and red-hot rage that had instantly filled him. He had left the interrogation room without saying a word, leaving their suspect kneeling on the ground, coughing and half-choked. It was only several minutes later when he had calmed down further that the pain had hit him, and he had realized blood was making its down his side again and knew he had reopened his injury.

The sting of Claire applying antibiotic ointment to his cut brought Mac sharply back to the present. He winced.

"Oh stop being such a baby," Claire admonished him, placing the new gauze bandage on and taping it down. "There," she announced with satisfaction, sitting back and admiring her work. Standing up, she lay both hands on Mac's shoulders looking earnestly into his eyes, "And no ruining my work by chasing or tackling bad guys, even if they do say things they shouldn't," she continued quietly. Despite him saying almost nothing about it, from the look that had been on his face, she knew exactly what it was that had set Mac off in that interrogation room.

Mac gazed back up at her as she stood in front of him in her sleep shorts and tank top, hair still all messy from bed, and he knew that she knew. And he loved her for it. He loved how she knew him without him needing to hardly say anything. He loved how she let him know that his secrets weren't so secret, with such simplicity. And he loved how she knew that they weren't really secrets in the first place as much as he couldn't bring himself to actually _say_ certain things. And once again he was left marveling how he had somehow been so beyond fortunate as to have ended up with her. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close to him. He kissed her slowly before holding her tight to his chest again. "I love you," he whispered.

Claire rested her cheek against Mac's bare skin before reaching up and kissing him back. "Why doesn't my injured man go finish getting undressed while I make him some breakfast," she said.

Mac smiled. "Sounds like an excellent idea," he said. He stood up stiffly and gingerly.

"I'll meet you in the bedroom in just a few minutes," Claire said.

"Now _that_ sounds like it has promise," Mac said with a sly grin.

"You're supposed to be injured," Claire returned sternly.

"Not _that_ injured," Mac replied, eyes dancing.

Claire bit back a smile. "Oh…just…go get undressed!" she retorted.

Mac choked back a snigger and his grin broadened.

Claire threw his t-shirt at his head, but she grinned back at him, eyes returning his mischievous twinkle.


End file.
